There Were Those Who Screamed
by Resucitated-Blue
Summary: The ideas that which revolutions bring forth and attempt to put into practice are remembered as spectacular moments, a moment of enlightnment. One sometimes forgets the screams, the blood and the deaths. Surrealistic Take of the Storming of Bastille. Accurate Historical facts used. Warning: Bloodbath


WARNING THIS HAS A DESCRIPTION OF A BLOODBATH AND IS SOMEWHAT GORY. FRENCH REVOLUTION AND STORMING OF BASTILLE SHOULD GIVE YOU A CLUE TO HOW MUCH.

A/N: I shall use Francois instead of Francis for reasons.

Drip...Drip...

_Water...there was water dripping somewhere..._

The thought gently pulled Francois from his sleep and made him turn over. Ow...this bed really wasn't comfortable...Oh! His hands felt around and he realized that he was sleeping on hard stone.

Immediately, he opened his eyes. Or at least he thought he did. It was so pitch dark, he wasn't sure if he had really done so. His hand reached up to his two eyes and waved in front of himself. He was relieved to see that at least the blur of the hand was slightly visible in the shadows. Not blind. Good.

After a few more stretches and further checks that his body was in proper order, he tried to figure out where he was. The floor was made out of rough stones, solemnly cold to his touch. There were no windows of any sort and he felt lost in an infinite chamber of darkness. He got up on his feet, with a little disorientated difficulty, and reached out in search for something to guide him back to some kind of reality. Soon, he found more stone and then, as he followed that around, a wooden door. This was a prison.

_What...am I doing here?_

He banged on the door loudly, hoping someone would answer. Yet, as he did so, he could feel drowsiness overcoming him again, as if the energy was being sapped away quickly with each simple motion. Bang! Bang! Bang...bang...

He staggered back, hunching over to lean on his knees. Breathe in. Breathe out. Try again. Francois shook his head furiously and returned to his task with more vigor. The pace was more frantic and desperate but definitely a lot more noticeable. It didn't go unrewarded. Footsteps started to draw closer towards him and soon enough light was shining from the bottom crevice of the door.

"France? You awake?"

A little joy and relief struck the personification's heart as he recognized the voice.

"Henri?"

It was a young man he had often met in town from time to time, a furniture maker. He had great workmanship and was decent,humble for the moments when France pretended he was a normal Parisian citizen; an escapade from the extravagant court at Versailles. As of late though, due to a mess called the Estates General, it has been a while since France had spoken with the man. The fact that he could hear a familiar voice though, in the chaos of the moment, was relieving.

"Yes, it's me. Glad to know you're awake now."

"What's going on? Why am I here?"

There was a pause. France didn't like that pause. The silence felt like the human was displeased, disappointed and downright insulted. It seemed like eons passed until the man spoke again and with a stranger tone, a tinge of surprise.

"You...you don't know? Have those damn first two estates gotten so far into your head that you are oblivious to the glorious things your people are carrying out?"

"Re...revolution?"

The word barely got off Francois' tongue, almost an airy wisp. He heard the word before, across the sea shouted by a new ally to get at an old enemy. It was a word that inspired new enlightenment ideas, quite interesting ones at that, to get control from oppressors. But...it almost meant change...huge change...

A death.

"What...w-why?" His question was uncertain as he spoke with his mind still mauling over the idea of a revolution. But there was no response for while and only the light dripping sound from the other side of his cell could be heard. His heart beat fast in anticipation for the response.

Then it finally came back quick like a blade, "You know exactly why."

Instantly, as if on this man's cue, the previous blanks of his memory began returning. The Estates General, almost a month ago, had been an utter disaster. The first two Estates were unable to permit themselves to actually _sacrifice _something to solve their financial situation, while the Third Estate had their grievances ignored. In frustration, The Third Estate turned into the National Assembly and separated. Then, after solving the issue with their normal meeting room being locked, they vowed for a constitution to be made upon a tennis court. Louis wasn't all that pleased with the idea because after all what ruler would? A new government was going to steal his crown.

So in fear and worry, the king sent over a handful of militia to scare them off into dispersion. Francis disagreed with the idea completely and had rushed off ahead to see if he could calm the people into feeling less provoked.

Yet, as soon as he stepped out of his carriage onto the road of the tense city, he blacked out.

And then here.

Francois shook his head. That probably meant that militia had provoked the people and they were taking up arms...fighting. He could feel their battles cries lightly buzzing his ears now if he listened closely enough, but there was something very wrong with them, something monstrous. It was like an insect, tiny, ghostly and it felt like it was worming its way into his mind to roar and ravage, to make him utterly mad. He had to get to the bottom of this before that happens.

"What am I in here for then?"

"For...safekeeping."

Francois rolled his eyes, "You know that I'm immortal Henri. There's nothing that can kill me. What is it really?"

"To keep you on our side."

"What?"

"You have been made numb and brainwashed. Couldn't you hear the cries of anguish from the poverty of the peasants or how we, the working class, are politically voiceless despite some of us being _richer_ than your poorest noblemen? Does that even make sense to you? _We _make up the nation, not them!"

"I am loyal to the ki-"

"You are loyal to the tyrant," the man interrupted, "But don't you worry France. You will be made anew and refreshed, broken free from the slavery shackles of those other estates, amongst your brethren and equal! I can't believe you cannot hear their cries for they seem to ring proudly in my heart. Have you been made so deaf France, that you can't even hear your people sing*? They will sing as they are martyred for you and their blood shall wash feudalism away! Vive la revolution! Vive la revolution! VIVE LA REVOLUTION!"

The personification paled. The man was lost to him. And that former buzzing noise in his ears was getting louder and louder. He leaned back against the door, curled up and clutched his head. Shivers crawled up and down his skin. His frozen figure remained like that until the man on the other side stopped his patriotic rant.

"Aren't you happy? Have you been shocked into utter joy?"

_More like utter horror. _

Francis kept his mouth shut from the revolutionary. Whatever words he would say now might provoke him into thinking he preferred the king over the people and if his words were any indication, it would get him a beating. Still, he didn't dare lie. There was so much fear clawing at his throat, uncertain to what would happen to him when it all would settle. What wounds would he end up carrying? What leader will come out of this?

"_Soyez-Courageuse!*"_ a ghostly voice of a young woman echoed in his mind and France found his breathing calming down. His hands relaxed and gathered up courage to speak.

"When will I be let go." It sounded more like a croak than his voice, he coughed then repeated, "When will I be let go?"

"As soon as your bath is done being prepared."

"Bath?"

But before he could get an answer another voice called down the hall, "Henri! Henri! They are parading his damned head on a pike down the streets! You're missing it!"

France felt his stomach lurch.

"I'll be right there! France, great things are going to happen!"

Francois lowered his head and felt involuntary tears fall down his cheeks.

An hour or so later, though he couldn't really be sure, he could hear boots approach his cell. He could hear that it was and metal clinked with their ever step. He gulped and stepped away from the door.

"You are to come with us France," Henri called, "Your bath is ready."

BAM! It swung open. The nation didn't have time to even realize what was going on until he was walked outside the cell with hands shackled and a thick blindfold over his eyes. Sweat dripped from his brow. Distant screaming and yelling could be heard getting closer with every step. He repeated a desperate prayer to stop the shaking in his hands.

And then he entered into hell.

Incoherent shouts were being repeated from outside the fortresses walls. Repugnant smells attacked his nose...and was that...no...it couldn't be... He stumbled back and began to cough horribly. Bile and vomit clawed from his throat in disgust but he was forced to swallow it all back down. It was blood. A lot of it.

It filled the air so heavily that it would have been impossible to tread forward had it not been the forceful hands of the revolutionaries. Ah, what kind people these were. Callous hands pushed him forward despite the clear nausea he was feeling. At least the shouts were lessening...for some eerie reason.

"We're here France," Henri said as they had seemed to step outside and Francois was made to step unto a wooden platform, in front of something. He turned in a direction and cheers rejoiced, "I present you, the personification of France! He shall now be freed from the influences of the other two Estates!"

Click! His shackles were removed but the blindfold was still kept on. Tight grips still held his shoulders and arms. Then unexpectedly, he was raised then lowered gently into a pool of something wet...something warm. It soaked his trousers up to a little below his knees and his stomach flipped once more. He understood why it had taken so long to prepare the bath.

"Vive la revolution!" someone tugged away the blindfold, "Vive la France!"

Oh, how he regretted that he had his eyes open.

Corpses of soldiers, dismembered and disemboweled were in horrible pile to the side, some with maggots already beginning to eat the flesh. Large syringe needles mixed amongst the dead bodies. Crimson red was everywhere. Yet, what drove more fear into Francois' heart were his captor's faces and the crowd in front.

Wide grins were all around. Some carried bloodied weapons, recently soiled. All eyes were on him as he stood up on a raised platform, one used for public executions...in a wooden tub...filled with blood.

"Look at your people France!" Henri crowed proudly as he patted one of the nation's shoulders and gestured towards the crowd in front of him, "We, the sans-culottes, the Third Estate, the people of France have brought down this symbol of feudalism," He pointed to the fortress behind them, "the Bastille!"

"Vive la révolution! Vive la revolution!"

"We are to be free to have an actual say in our own country!"

"Vive la révolution!"

"A new nation shall be made," at his moment, France, out his peripheral vision, saw a bucket being raised, "from the blood of the martyrs and our enemies!"

And down the blood poured.

Over his hair, his body and his inner self.

He felt himself slipping away as the blood slid down his arms, staining his clothes. Francois felt the ideas in his mind melt away and change. Was it madness? Was it Enlightenment?

_Those noblemen are a bunch of hypocritical, spoiled, frivolous dogs. You had known this since the beginning. You have always hated that court. You have always hated how they treat the lower classes, how unjust this system is. On the verge of bankruptcy, they still put up parties and spend as much as they liked. Famine plagued the outskirts of this country, killed off so many and still bread prices rose without mercy. That is cruelty without cause! They deserve whatever comes to them!_

More minutes passed and his care for noblemen was purged away. He felt renewed, these were indeed his people. He was going to be the Republic of France, Francois…no…that name sounded too related with the second estate…no…he would need to change it. Yet, he didn't want to be so unfamiliar with it that he wouldn't recognize it. _Francis_…that sounded better. Francis Bonnefoy!

This was where he belonged. The choir that he had been muffling in his head before, what seemed so monstrous earlier was magnificent! Fraternité, Egalité et Liberté! Oh, what greatness will be reached!

His body bent down to cup more blood into his hands and then he re-poured more of it over himself, adoring the feel.

"VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!"

Drip…Drip…

A/N:

Please note: NOTHING like this EVER happened during the French revolution. This is a surrealistic interpretation of the republic of France being born out of blood. Even then, I was thinking of the October massacres while writing this...rather the battle fought for Bastille...so the amount of blood mentioned in this fic was a little much...

Also, the sans-culottes are known to be the radical murdering ones, there were indeed sane revolutionaries and then things got out of hand with the great terror then the reign of terror. Furthermore, the third estate wasn't only peasants but included lawyers, business owners, bakers, blacksmiths etc...

Anyways, I felt France, during this period, would be sympathetic to the cause but equally horrified with the courses of actions that came with it. France would be more royalist at first then get swept away with the radical craziness. Also, on a tangent, I have this headcanon that Francis temporarily changes his human name to Francis Bonne-Coeur when there's that movement of De-Christianization which makes a nice pun with Bonkers since it sounds like that if pronounced by English speakers.

* This is a reference to a song in Les Miserables WHICH in fact IS NOT about the French revolution of _1789_ necessarily but about the June rebellion during 1832 against King _Louis-Philippe _over a cholera epidemic and economic situations. There are few inconsistencies in the musical/movie adaptations of the book so it has caused a few misconceptions. However, I do believe that the song echoes the same principles of the revolution.

*Soyez-courageux. Translation: Be courageous. Young Woman/Girl = Joan of Arc.


End file.
